


The Spirit of Endurance

by Azalea_Scroggs, Slx99, SpellCleaver



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: (though not right away), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Collaboration, Gen, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug, Luke spends half the fic tied up fair warning, Mages, Restraints, Sickfic, Whump, and boy does he ever, because we all need a star wars fantasy au, seriously guys there is a LOT of angst in this be warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25079725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea_Scroggs/pseuds/Azalea_Scroggs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slx99/pseuds/Slx99, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellCleaver/pseuds/SpellCleaver
Summary: Luke Skywalker had been planning this all along. When the resistance was ambushed by the Empire's Grey Army, he would stay behind to allow his friends to escape, then free himself; it was easy. What he hadn't expected was that Vader would be there to capture him...and would take him back to his camp to force him to reveal his innate magical abilities.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 31
Kudos: 283





	1. Capture

**Author's Note:**

> Star Wars fantasy AU time! This started as a collaborative idea and then it just...grew. We have no regrets.

So. The Grey Army thought they could capture Luke Skywalker, did they?

Luke smirked. They'd won the battle, all right, but then reinforcements had shown up; reinforcements led by Lord Vader, the terrifying warlord and sorcerer, who had killed all the other mages...and Luke had stayed behind too long, had not seen the soldiers behind him before he was caught. And now they clearly thought they were going to kill him.

They hadn't known about the knife he had inherited from Uncle Owen, and that he held between his hands, already beginning to slice through the ropes that wrapped around his wrists and held his hands behind his back. Ben had never taught him how to loosen bonds with magic, but that was all right, he didn't want them to know he was a mage anyway –

"Stop!"

The two soldiers pushing Luke across the camp came to a halt. The reason was easy to spot for Luke as he scanned his surroundings, curiosity stopping his efforts to carefully and unnoticeable cut through the sturdy rope. 

Lord Vader, mounted on his black warhorse, rode across the camp, his entourage falling behind. With his visor down it was impossible to see his eyes but Luke was sure he had caught the Dark Lord's undivided attention.

Luke squared his shoulders. He wouldn’t give any ground. Not even when Vader stopped his horse less then half a step from Luke, the soldiers flanking Luke involuntarily shrinking back a bit. 

Luke glared up at the man who had murdered his father, and Vader looked him up and down; to meet the gaze of the tall man on his gigantic horse, Luke has to crane his neck. He steeled himself, waiting for Vader to draw his sword, and end his life too.

It didn’t happen.

Vader pressed his heels into the flanks of his horse and it came even closer, close enough for him to reach down.

Wait. What was he –

Too late. The Dark Lord grabbed Luke’s shirt and vest and pulled him up. A yelp escaped Luke’s mouth, followed by a groan as he landed belly first on the horse’s withers, the hard horn of the saddle digging into his ribs and driving the breath from his lungs. 

Luke’s surprise lasted only a short moment, then he began to struggle in earnest; Vader had him, the Dark Lord had him and he wasn't going to escape unless he fought.

"No!" He tried to twist around, to throw himself forwards. "No, you can't –"

But then Vader pushed him down with a firm hand on his back, effectively immobilizing him. With another hand he wrestled the small knife from Luke’s hand, and tossed it at the feet of Luke’s escort. 

No – no, it wasn't possible – he'd been so, so close –

"I would advise," Vader said in a deadly voice, "that you remain _still,_ boy."

Furious, Luke tried to raise himself upright, and managed to half turn around. "Like hell I will, you piece of –"

In response, Vader pushed him down again. Luke tried to shake the hand off his back to slide down, but when the horse started to move Luke had to struggle to keep atop and not fall ungraciously to the ground.

With his prisoner secure, Vader ordered the rest of his men to fall in, and they were off. 

* * *

The ride that followed was extremely uncomfortable, to say the least. Each time the horse landed, the saddle horn jolted painfully into Luke's abdomen; after so long hanging in this position, he grew dizzy; and the routine pounding of the horse's legs against the ground was starting to give him a bad headache.

Oh, yeah. And then there was the fact that Lord Vader was _right there,_ behind him, his hand never leaving Luke's back.

Luke couldn't believe it. He couldn't. He'd come prepared for capture, he'd saved his friends _and_ figured out a way he could escape...and then, in an instant, all that had been taken away from him. He was a captive of them now, of the man who had killed his father...and although he didn't know what was going to happen, he knew it couldn't be good.

He'd just had to remain determined, no matter what they threw at him. He could do it. At least, he hoped so.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, they stopped; from what he could see of the other riders from his position, they were stopping for a rest. And then, Vader's hand left his back. Dare he hope...

"I will allow you to sit up," Vader said, "provided you do not attempt anything...foolish."

Luke almost decided to make a go for it then, but he was so desperate to get out of his current position that he decided to play nice, just this once. He half twisted to look up at Vader.

"I won't," Luke said, though the words tasted like ash in his mouth. "I promise."

He made himself feel better by shooting a glare at the sorcerer.

Vader stared down at him, and for a moment Luke wondered if he shouldn't have glared; but then, he did _not_ want to be seen as submissive, either –

"Very well," Vader said; and then in a singular movement, he seized Luke by his shoulders, lifted him up, and plopped him down on the horse in front of him. Now the world was rightside up again, which Luke was grateful for; except that one of Lord Vader’s gloved hands had not left his shoulder.

Luke squirmed slightly, trying to move himself forward and get away from the _murderer_ behind him; but there wasn't much he could do. His hands were still bound behind him.

"Stop moving," Vader said idly. "I want to make sure you do not escape."

"It's not as if I don't want to," Luke snapped. "You're a killer."

"The same fate will not befall you; I can assure you of that. So there is no need for you to escape."

 _Yeah, right, you bastard,_ Luke thought sourly, and he almost said it.

"I would not advise that you try it. Unless you would like to end up in your previous position?"

Luke shot him a glare, but did not dignify that with an answer.

“As I thought,” Vader said, and the satisfaction in his tone made Luke want to spit in his face, but he had no doubt about how that would go over. 

Then they were off again, and Luke tried to think about something else, anything else than his current predicament; but with his hands tied, and Vader at his back, holding him with an iron grip, it was difficult. And now the reality of his situation was beginning to hit him. He’d tried to escape the Grey Army for months, had been on the run; but he was fighting with the revolutionaries, responsible for winning several important battles...and worst of all, he had magic. He was a mage; not a very trained one, but he had magic and knew how to use it. And now he had been captured by Lord Vader, the very sorcerer who had killed all the light mages, who had even killed his father...he was at the man’s mercy. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Vader’s hand tightened, almost to the point of pain, and pulled Luke closer to him. Of course; he didn’t want to risk the chance that his precious prisoner would escape for even a moment. 

_Maybe he already knows I’m a mage._

No. That wasn’t possible. Because then...then he’d be dead. If Vader knew that, he’d be dead...he didn’t know. 

And Luke couldn’t let him find out.

The ride to Vader’s camp could not have taken more than forty minutes, but to Luke it felt like hours; all he wanted was to get away from the man who had killed thousands, who seemed hellbent on not letting Luke escape, who had killed his father.

As they rode, Luke looked around at the other riders, studying them; and then he realized something very peculiar.

There were no other rebels. Not in this company.

And yet...there had been other survivors...

"Where –" His voice came out as a squeak, and he cleared his throat. "Where are the other prisoners?"

Vader's hand tightened. "There are no other prisoners."

_No other prisoners._

What did that mean? Luke was just another rebel soldier, to them; what did Vader want with him?

It was also frightening, to say the least. It meant that he was completely alone.

Another few minutes passed, during which Luke tried desperately to think of a way out of his situation. Then, finally, they had arrived; they rode up over a hill to look down at the largest military encampment Luke had ever seen. 

This was it. Once he was let down, which he was going to be in minutes, then, he reasoned, he’d make his escape. His hands were bound, but not his legs; he could still run, and Ben had taught him just enough of magic so that he did not have to use it only with his hands…

“No,” rumbled Vader’s voice behind him, and Luke froze. “You will not be escaping any time soon.” 

“But –” Luke stuttered. “How – how did –” Now he began to struggle in earnest, trying to push himself forwards. “You can’t –”

“Quiet, young one,” Vader said, and his other hand seized Luke’s chin and forced his mouth open; some sort of vial was pressed to his lips, and he was made to swallow the contents. 

Luke hacked and coughed, desperately trying to get rid of the potion...but the damage was done. Almost immediately, he began to feel exhausted; and then terror seized him anew. Vader was going to put him to sleep – he was going to be knocked out, he – anything could happen to him in that time, he could be taken anywhere –

To his surprise, Vader’s hand that had been holding his face came up to rest on his head. “Breathe, child, and do not fear. All will be well.” 

_Like hell it will,_ he wanted to say, but then the full effects of the potion took hold, and Luke fell into sleep.

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly, bringing with it a number of strange sensations. The first thing Luke was aware of was that he was sitting upright. He didn’t want to open his eyes yet – he was still so tired – except that the next thing he realized was that he was very uncomfortable; there was a stiff object at his back, and his arms were twisted in a position that made his muscles cramp. 

But when he tried to move his arms, he...couldn’t. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t move. That was strange. And alarming. 

And he couldn’t move his legs either…

And there was something over his mouth...

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. 

Luke opened his eyes. 

He was in the corner of a large, enclosed space; the walls were brown and looked to be made of a soft material, there were assorted chairs arranged, and in the middle of the room was a long table. This didn’t look at all like his quarters at the Alliance camp…

All will be well.

Suddenly, Luke remembered; and panic shot through him as he recalled being seized by the man who had killed some of his friends and laid waste to the Alliance on the battlefield –as he recalled that man’s presence behind him – reading his mind with magic – forcing him to sleep –

And...and where was he now? 

Luke’s panicked gaze darted around the space he was in – a tent, a very large tent – and managed to focus on the weapon resting on the floor, on the opposite side of the room. That...he might not be guessing right, but that was Vader’s sword…

He was in _Vader’s military tent._

Now Luke struggled in earnest, pushing against his restraints – because of course they were restraints, of course his hands were still bound – and trying to speak, to scream, to shout for someone who wasn’t connected to the Grey Army, surely there had to be some innocent hunter wandering about; but it was of no use. His hands were securely tied over his head to what must be some sort of wooden stake, his legs were tied as well; and to top it all off, there was a gag in his mouth. No one would hear him if he screamed for help; and he was sure that was the point. Slowly, as he realized the gravity of his situation, Luke stopped struggling, and slumped down against the stake in the ground. 

He was truly alone. 

A tear slid out of his eye and trailed down his cheek – but Luke shook his head. No. No, he would not cry. He might be captured, and in the Grey Army; but so far, they might think he was just an ordinary soldier. They did not know that he was a mage, at least he didn’t think they did; for the time being, his identity was safe. And as soon as he was certain that it was night, that he would be left alone...maybe he could figure out some way to use his magic to get out of here. 

Yes, he thought, leaning his head back, and wishing that he’d been trussed up in a more comfortable position. Yes, he still had one last advantage. All hope was not lost yet. 

He was going to endure. He was going to fight, and struggle, and resist all he could; and then, the second he got the chance, he'd escape, and he and Han and Leia would laugh together about the folly of the Empire. They were worth laughing at, after all.

But even as he had the thought, there came the sound of heavy footsteps in the distance; Luke sat up, fearing what might be coming, then wondered if it might be better if he pretended to be asleep. So he slumped down further in his bonds, closed his eyes, and listened, his heart pounding. The footsteps continued to approach – then there was the sound of the tent flap being opened, and the footsteps approached him before stopping, and walking away from him.

Taking several deep breaths, Luke opened his eyes. To his relief, there was no one there; the person must have left. Then, he turned his head to the right.

Vader’s mask was inches from his face. 

Luke screamed, the sound of course muffled by the gag, and tried to jerk away on instinct; his restraints stopped him from moving far. Vader simply watched him. 

“You cannot fool me,” he said. “I knew you were not sleeping.”

Fighting against his fear, Luke struggled to breathe, and Vader continued watching him; then, he lifted an object and reached toward Luke's face. Luke jerked back, but there was nothing he could do to stop it as Vader pulled his head forward and draped...something around his neck.

Instantly, a chill went through him, and Luke felt weaker. Quickly, he looked down – an amulet, it was a magic-suppressing amulet. But why...did Vader...

"I would like to find out if you are a mage," Vader said quietly. "Do you feel anything?"

Determined, Luke shook his head, ignoring the awful sense of...of _repression_ flooding through him. Vader couldn't know. He couldn't let him know. 

Then, as the amulet's power continued to flow through him, the tent flap opened once more, and men began to enter.

Vader stood up.

"I will return for you later," he said ominously.

* * *

Luke watched as more of those men filed into the tent and frowned. It was a large tent, certainly, and the pole he was trussed up and tied to was hardly in the middle of it, but... it seemed odd. Was Vader going to honestly hold a war meeting here? With Luke looking on?

Evidently, some of the officers had the same concern. One of them, who had the insignia on his uniform that denoted him a general, a hard face and a stature almost, but not quite, as tall as Vader's, even had the gall to ask, "My lord, your prisoner..."

"Will be staying here." Vader's voice always reverberated oddly in that helmet, always came out stilted and unnatural, but when it _boomed_ like that... It really was not pleasant. "Is that a problem, Veers?"

Luke gasped slightly at the name, his eyes widening; no one was paying enough attention to him to notice except perhaps Vader, who turned his helmet ever so slightly in his direction – as if in _amusement_ – and another, shorter man, who struck Luke as sort of mousy. Vader tilted his helmet slightly when Luke did not stop looking at him, before finally turning away. Luke felt distinctly mocked.

He lowered his head, and his gaze, but still listened keenly as Veers – _Veers_ , the butcher who'd made their time in Hoth a bloody one, the general who'd led the assault on the Felucian jungles and ground the resistance into _dirt_ , the leader who Leia had told him that her father's allies were increasingly desperate to eliminate from the equation – responded stiffly, "No, my lord. I assume he is not a security concern?"

"Whom will he tell about our doings here?" Vader still sounded amused, but finally congregated with the other gaggle of officers around what must be a table. Luke didn't know; they were just behind him, and he couldn't really turn his head to look without smacking his skull against the wood, straining his neck painfully, or both. He was already stiff enough that it was agony. "He will not escape. He is never going back to the petty resistance."

Luke gritted his teeth, and tried to breathe through his nose.

Vader may think he had Luke cornered, he vowed under his breath. He may think that he had won, he may think that Luke was powerless... but he did not know that Luke was a mage. That had been true before, and that was still true. Luke _would_ escape.

And if he did... it would be useful if he _could_ take some information about Vader's military schemes back with him.

So he stopped straining. Stopped stewing. And just listened.

"Report, Needa."

"The sieges against Chandrila and Alderaan are going well my lord, but Theed has proven problematic. Naboo as a whole is a kingdom that has proven highly resistant to our efforts, both politically and militarily; His Majesty has attempted to use his connections with the young queen and his lineage there to sway them to our cause, but Soruna remains stubborn."

"Naboo is always stubborn," Vader said. If Luke had been able to see his gaze, from this angle _or_ behind the mask, he would've noticed that he went from glaring at the map to staring somewhat wistfully at Luke. "As are its people, and descendants. But my master will... _deal with them_ soon. Tell me about Alderaan. Has the queen given any ground whatsoever?"

"None, my lord." Luke let out a breath. Alderaan, a large, powerful city-state up in the highest peaks of the mountain range that looped through the continent, was the main bastion of rebellion – Leia was its princess, and she'd served by Luke's side in the trenches herself time and time again. They sent more aid than anyone else; if the siege were to work, and they were taken... "Queen Breha has rallied her troops, as well as gathered allies from elsewhere. They are driving back our troops very efficiently."

"May I see the numbers?"

"Of course." There was the rustle of paper as Vader took the notes for himself.

"She would have had to found a significant number of troops to be so effective," he mused aloud. "Where are they coming from?"

Needa shifted where he stood, judging by the scuffing sounds against the ground of the tent. "We don't know, sir."

Paper crumpled. "You don't _know_?"

"Sir." The silence was deafening. "They were mages."

That word fell into the atmosphere of the meeting like the first drop of rain before a thunderstorm.

Vader said, "Mages?"

"Yes, sir. A secret enclave, I suspect – hidden by the Organas in the surrounding mountains. They ambushed us. We had no hope."

A deadly, deadly silence filled the tent.

Luke tried to suppress his smile. He could feel Vader's gaze burning a hole through the pole and into his head anyway; he twisted his head to catch a glimpse of the man, gloved hands braced on the table, mask facing straight ahead but in a vague enough direction that he really could've been glaring at anyone.

"Then we will commit more troops to taking Alderaan," Vader growled. "The rebel cell we were tackling here in pathetic, weak." Each word felt like being slapped with a wet fish – which Luke had firsthand experience of – but it didn't do _anything_ to dull Luke's mood. "We can leave a skeleton task force and they should be perfectly capable of handling them, now that _my_ business is concluded."

Enclaves of mages still existed. They had not been totally wiped out.

Luke was not alone – not like he'd felt, since Ben had died.

"Ride back immediately, Captain. If you pass Imperial provinces on the way, take as many troops as you need. Just ensure to _crush them into dust_."

Luke... had to wince at the violence in that tone.

"We will rendezvous with you shortly, with a larger force." That helmet _definitely_ shifted towards Luke, then. "To ensure that they are utterly obliterated. I will take my time with the survivors."

 _They will_ die, _boy. There is no point in seeming so excited about their existence when I assure you, it will be a fleeting one at most._

Luke shuddered, smacking his head against the pole as he did, stars ringing before his eyes. He thought he heard sniggering among the officers; he thought he heard Vader silence them with a wave of his hand.

That voice...Vader's magic...the way he'd read his mind earlier...

He shuddered again, and turned away.

"We will head south for Alderaan immediately," Vader said. "Head through the Rishi pass – the ford is the fastest route there for an army as large as ours. Alderaan will fall within the month if we dedicate all our resources to it."

Someone pompous spoke. Luke didn't need to see them to know that about them; it was in their voice. It was in their Coruscanti accent, pure and pristine and perfect. "And the battle still going on here, my lord? Skeleton force or not, if we dedicate so many troops to it –"

"The rebels wished to take shelter in the snowy wastelands of Hoth. They have bled into the tundra to try and hold this position. But winter is beginning its approach." His voice turned almost vicious as he said, "If they follow us, as well they might, they will be slaughtered. They must know that. But if they stay... they will freeze to death in the very hole they sought to hide in."

Luke shivered.

"Prepare the men to keep moving – alter the course," Vader ordered someone to his left. "Now, report to me on the situation in Chandrila..."

Luke started to doze, after that; the fire in his arms was too fierce to ignore and the throbbing at his temples demanded to be felt, as well. He sighed, loudly; he enjoyed the indignant stares that were thrown his way.

Vader ignored him. Of course he did. He just kept talking – about how Alderaan's sister city-state was far closer to falling, about how the Imperial army was sweeping across large swathes of the Great Forest, Endor and Kashyyyk burning in its wake, about minor uprisings in Imperial territory in the colonies. Luke couldn't pay attention to all of it.

But he did pay attention when he heard footsteps again – heard men walking away from the table, stuffing and crumpling paper into their pockets, dragging the heavy tarps aside to exit the tent into weak, watery sunlight. Luke let himself breathe more deeply, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed that the meeting was over. Relieved, because now there was not the constant threat of someone _watching him_ if he wanted to... make a face or finally give into tears that he refused to let go or just groan. Disappointed – _scared_ , even – because...

Vader had promised they would talk soon.

Vader had promised that he was not getting out of here alive. He would not have let him hear all of that if he was.

Mages in Alderaan. He let out a slight laugh. Who'd have thought.

He closed his eyes, tipped his head back. Footsteps going past him rumbled at the edges of his awareness; they stopped at one point, all fading into the distance... except for one pair. A pair which meandered closer and closer to him, each step sharp and forceful, and Luke tried to bite down on his scream.

Vader had promised him a chat.

He might find it quite difficult to chat if Luke was _gagged_ , but hey, he could still give him a fiery death glare that would turn Hoth's snowy tundra into waterfalls worthy of Naboo – 

It was not Vader.

Instead, it was some man, with a moustache thick enough to be used to scrub the mud and waste off of equipment at Echo Base, whose insignia declared him to be... some high rank, he wasn't sure. The man looked Luke over briefly and scoffed, the sound seeming more uptight than anything Luke had ever heard in his life.

It was easy to look down one's nose at a person when they were smallish anyway, on the floor, gagged and tied to the tent pole. This man still seemed to make it seem like it was his inherent superiority that allowed him to achieve it.

"I trust that you found that interesting, scum," the man spat. His moustache quivered with every word. "Rest assured that you won't be fleeing to tell the rest of your ilk what our plans are. I hardly think you have the military capabilities of stopping us anyway, but even so; you are never making it out of this camp alive."

Luke already knew that. And he had an intensely stubborn streak. It allowed him to just raise an eyebrow at the man and... try to appear unconcerned. While he was trussed up like a roasted bird. While he was completely and utterly in the hands of non-existent Imperial mercy.

"Don't underestimate the Rebellion. We _will_ defeat you," he tried to say.

He was gagged. It came out as: "Dogudstmah th'eblon wlld feetu."

The man raised his own eyebrow and laughed.

Luke lifted his chin and flared his nostrils.

The man laughed some more. He prodded Luke's knee with his foot; shifting him from the _very specific_ position he'd been sitting in for so long sent sharp aches lancing down his muscles and he cried out, choking and spluttering on the gag.

The man laughed even harder. He prodded again – no, he _kicked_ Luke's leg, and Luke whimpered.

"You're pathetic," he said. "I wonder what Lord Vader wants with you – perhaps he wants to interrogate you, maybe you know where some other mages are, or you cosied up to the right person in the Rebellion to know dangerous secrets you could spill. You're too much of a runt to have any value of your own."

Luke was small. Looked young – _was_ young. He tried to breathe deeply; it was helping him in this case. This man clearly didn't think he was a threat. He _clearly_ didn't think he was a _threat_ – 

Another kick – to his ribs, this time. He slammed his head against the tent pole and groaned. Something flopped on his chest.

And he wasn't, was he?

He wasn't a threat.

He was reminded of it _again_ , when that kick came again, and he felt the amulet constricting around his neck; it was tight enough to strangle him, at this rate, and it was _heavy_. It blocked his magic.

Here, Luke had no magic.

He _was_ powerless.

"I wonder how long you'll take to break," he mused aloud, crouching down to study him closer, then. He took Luke's jaw in his hand, tightly enough that his fingernails dug in, painting bruises and a faint speckling of blood. "Not long, I suspect; he'll just get to work on you and then within minutes you'll have sung all the pretty songs he needs you to sing –"

"Ozzel."

The man – Ozzel – retracted his hand so fast it looked like he'd been burned. Straightened up to a military posture. "Lord Vader."

"Your men need you, I believe. Stop wasting time with my prisoner."

"I – yes, Lord Vader." Ozzel swallowed. "Right away."

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Ozzel ducked his head and ducked through the tent flap, disappearing into the controlled chaos of camp.

The moment he vanished, Luke's gaze whipped back to Vader's menacing helmet, studying him slowly.

"Ozzel is a capable officer," was all he said, "but a despicable one,"

"I noticed," Luke tried to say. It came out as: "I noststd."

Vader made a noise. It might have been considered a laugh, had Luke hated the man less.

Then he crouched down, and Luke flinched back because those black, gloved fingers were in his face, reaching for the gag – dragging it out of his mouth, to hang over his chin. It was warm and damp with saliva.

"That's better," Vader said. "More conducive to conversation."

Luke spat in his face.

It landed, luckily enough, right in one of the holes for Vader's eyes; he staggered back, reaching up to wipe at something he couldn't reach. Then he turned his head down to stare at Luke, and Luke was taken aback by how intensely blue his eyes were.

Still, he said; "I have no desire for conversation with _you_."

"I am sure that you do not."

"We have nothing to talk about."

Vader crouched in front of him.

Tilted his head.

When he drew his sword, it was so fast that Luke cried out – one moment it was sheathed at his side, the next the flat of his blade was resting on Luke's collarbone, too lightly to cut into the skin but heavily enough that it was _very definitely there_. It... _heated up_ the surrounding skin; the amulet hanging just beneath it seemed to tremble, and Luke felt suddenly feverish.

A few sparks flew – from the sword, or from Luke himself, he did not know.

The rubies inlaid in Vader's hilt seemed a touch too bright to be natural. They vibrated into Vader's palm.

And Vader, when he spoke, sounded nothing more than _smug_.

"On the contrary, boy," he said. "I believe we have a great deal to discuss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Luke goes through A Lot in this fic but he's also a petty little shit so we're in for a fun ride


	2. Interrogation

Luke could barely breathe. He could already feel the magic under his skin, demanding to be let loose; Vader wanted it to be let loose, if it was there. His worst fears had come true. He at least suspected that Luke was a mage – and he wanted to force his magic out. Luke could feel it stronger by the moment, building, building, a supernova ready to explode out of him –

And then it stopped.

The amulet pulsed against his chest, made him feel weaker and weaker; and for the first time, he was glad of it. It had saved him. Miraculously, the thing that he'd been given to feel weaker...had kept his magic from being revealed.

Vader's gaze seized on it, then, and Luke froze.

He had to keep up this facade. He couldn't let him find out, he couldn't…

Vader drew back his sword, and Luke allowed himself to slump down again.

"What do you want?" he demanded. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because, boy," Vader said coolly, "I think that you are a mage. And there is only one way to find out."

He stretched out a hand, toward Luke's throat; and suddenly Luke realized what the sorcerer intended.

"No," he gasped, trying to back away, and only succeeding in slamming his head against the tent pole again. "No, please –"

Vader ignored him. His claw-like hand seized around the amulet and ripped it free.

Then, without a second's hesitation, he lifted his sword again and held the pommel against Luke's chest.

Once again, his magic began to stir inside him, to grow in strength, and beg, demand to be let out of him; desperately, Luke tried to stop it, but there was no longer an amulet to hold him back. He could feel something brewing, it was about to –

 _No,_ he thought fiercely. _My mind is a fortress... you can't get in, my mind is a fortress, you can't get in –_

Ben had taught him that technique, and he hadn't had to use it before; but now Luke called upon it, making himself imagine that everything inside him – his mind, his magic, his spirit – could not be seen. It could not be called out of him, no matter how much pressure built in his mind, no matter how much magic began to spark at his fingertips –

_My mind is a fortress, my mind is a fortress –_

There was a snarl from Vader, and the Dark Lord stepped back. The pressure was gone, and Luke gasped for breath, sagging against the tent pole that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable against his back.

He'd done it.

"You," Vader said at last, "are stronger than I had anticipated."

Wait. Wait, did that…

He'd figured it out anyway.

"I'm not," Luke said, but his protests sounded weak even to his own ears. "I'm not a mage –"

"Of course you are," Vader said idly, and he sounded smug. "But I already knew that... Skywalker."

Luke froze. He knew his name, Vader knew his name –

He knew Luke was the son of the man he'd killed.

"But I do not know how much magic you have," Vader went on, and a small hope rose in Luke's chest; maybe, if Vader didn't think he was strong enough, he wouldn't kill him. "I will get that out of you before we reach Alderaan."

Luke swallowed. He would not show fear, he would _not show fear –_

Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Vader's.

"No," he said. "You won't."

Vader tilted his head.

"We will see about that," he said, sounding as determined as Luke felt. It was to be a battle of wills between them, then, and it was one that Luke was going to win. He'd just stopped _Lord Vader_ from drawing out his magic. "Would you like some water?"

The request was surprising; Luke hadn't expected any sort of consideration for his health from the Dark Lord.

"What?" he echoed.

"Water," Vader said impatiently, producing a small tin of water. "You need it."

For some reason, Luke was suspicious. He _was_ thirsty – now that he thought about it, he was _really_ thirsty. It felt like ages since he'd had water, and having that gag in his mouth had probably made it worse. He would give _anything_ to drink some water... but he still didn't trust anything that man would give him.

So he shrugged. "No. Not really."

Vader's eyes stared at him, and Luke felt pinned under that ruthless gaze.

"Skywalker," he said flatly, and he _hated_ the way his name sounded coming from him, "you will have water from me, or you will not have it at _all."_

Luke swallowed again.

It was from Vader. He shouldn't trust it. He should refuse everything the man gave him, make him feel sorry –

But his throat was so dry... and that water looked _so good…_

A small concession. He would allow it.

And then, the next chance he got, he'd fight back again. So, although it terrified him to let Vader give him anything –

"All right," he said, and shot the man a glare to let him know exactly how he felt.

What followed was a rather uncomfortable experience, as Luke had to let Vader touch his face and set the tin of water to his lips. But the water, as strange as it tasted, completely made up for it; it tasted so _good,_ so fresh, so pure, and he found himself wishing for more of it when Vader took it away.

Luke savoured the liquid, letting it run down his throat slowly and moisten his parched tongue until every last drop was gone.

"And now," Vader said, "I must leave you for the night."

 _Leave him._ Was he serious? He'd be alone in the tent... no one to watch him... with that amulet gone, maybe he could finally figure out how to –

"But I will be back sooner than you might think," he continued, "and believe me, Skywalker –"

"You're not getting anything out of me," Luke snapped. "I promise you, I don't have much magic."

"I _will_ get it out of you, one way or another. And if you do not show it to me... we are on our way to Alderaan. Perhaps," Vader added casually, "I will find one of your friends and kill them in front of you."

Luke's magic almost exploded out of him right then.

"You bastard!" he shouted, trying to fling himself at Vader on instinct, his restraints holding him back at the last second. He wanted to kill him, he _would_ kill him if he were free. "How dare you! You'll get what's coming to you, you piece of _shit,_ I –"

Vader reached forward, seized the gag, and lifted it back up into Luke's mouth, muffling his protests. After several seconds, it became too uncomfortable to speak, and Luke fell silent, exhausted.

His fight had left him feeling suddenly weak, but that didn't mean he didn't still want to murder Lord Vader. He'd do it, too.

_Can't threaten my friends, he can't…_

Slowly, Vader stood up and looked down at him. Luke couldn't tell what he was thinking, but it couldn't be anything good.

"I will be back, Skywalker," he said. "Trust that you do not escape."

Luke tried to shout vile words at Vader's retreating back, but it all came out garbled. He cursed all the gods of the world for putting him in this vulnerable position, at the mercy of the man who killed his father; for some reason, Vader didn't want him dead, but was bound and determined to get the magic out of him.

He wouldn't let him. He would not let him.

Because Luke was starting to wonder if Vader didn't want him dead. Why, then, would he want his magic to be revealed?

What if he wanted to _use_ Luke? To put his magic to his own use?

 _I won't let him,_ Luke thought fiercely. _I won't let him do that to me. I'll show him tomorrow, he'll regret ever taking me as his prisoner. I won't give him a thing._

Luke was already beginning to grow weary; strangely, despite his restraints, despite having a gag in his mouth, despite the literal _pole at his back,_ he found himself relaxing into the earth. He didn't know why... but he did need sleep.

But he didn't want to sleep. He needed to escape…

But his eyelids were already falling shut.

_No. I need to stay awake._

Had he been drugged?

No; he'd have been asleep by now if he had. And he was definitely awake. But it was his _limbs_ that seemed to be asleep, not his mind; he couldn't see himself moving any time soon. All he wanted to do... was sit there.

He could escape tomorrow, he decided. Besides, maybe he'd wake later in the night and still be alone.

And at least he could sleep knowing that no one was watching him.

Tomorrow he could escape. Now was the time for sleep.

* * *

He needed to get back to Luke. He needed to get back to Luke.

It echoed like a mantra as Vader met with his generals, made sure everything was set for the departure the following morning; they would have to ride hard and fast, and even then they would not arrive at their destination.

And Luke would be with them. His son would be with them. With _him._

It was such a novel experience, to know his son was there, was in the tent; tied up, to be sure, which was unfortunate. Vader did not want that. He wanted his son to trust him, and to reveal his magic. He wanted to test him, to see how much of his magic had been passed on... to see how much he would have to teach him.

He looked forward to teaching him.

But he could not do that if he escaped.

So, once his errands were complete, once everything was done Vader hurried back as fast as he could, ignoring the men clearing out of his path, fearing that he would arrive and his son, Padme's son, would be gone –

He threw open the tent flap.

Luke was sitting there as he had been before, and he was fast asleep.

Vader relaxed. The potion he had put in the water had done its trick after all. It had been more than an hour since he left, and Luke was still fast asleep. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Vader wished he could do something about that... but he could not.

Instead, almost against his will, he found himself walking toward him. No one was nearby; it was alright.

In moments, Luke was in front of him.

His son. _His son._

Vader stretched out a hand and touched the blond locks, ran it down across Luke's pale face before resting it against his cheek.

"My son," he said, as softly as he could manage. "You are mine. You will join me eventually... and then you will understand why I do this. And together, we will be unstoppable."

Luke moaned in his sleep, and Vader retracted his hand immediately. It was nothing, Luke was still sleeping; but he had risked enough.

Slowly, Vader took a step back.

Luke Skywalker was his son.

For hours, Luke, under the influence of the weakening potion, did not wake; and the whole time, Vader simply stood there, watching over him.

* * *

In happier days, Uncle Owen had often scolded him for sleeping in.

But those days were long past. When imperial troops had devastated the wastelands of Tatooine and his aunt and uncle had been killed, Luke had joined the resistance against the Empire.

Here getting up early wasn't just required by his superiors, that small bit of military discipline even the resistance required of their members. But it also was crucial for survival. More than once surprise ambushes had hit them during the night and the ability to wake at small noises that were out of the ordinary and being alert and ready to fight within minutes was life saving.

Which meant it wasn't in and of itself unusual for Luke to wake fully clothed and with his boots still on. But it certainly was unusual for him to need shaking awake.

He tried to force his eyes open, but couldn't see anything but blurry blobs of colour. The urge to sleep on was irresistible and he closed them again.

"He's a lazy one. Give me that cup."

A splash of ice cold water right in his face finally managed to get through the worst of Luke's stupor. Luke yelped as the water stung in his eyes.

An Imperial officer was sneering in Luke's face. "Good morning, scum."

Gasping, Luke blinked, and spluttered as the water ran into his mouth; but, thanks to the gag, he couldn't spit it out. There was another laugh, and he looked around – fortunately, General Ozzel wasn't there, but in his place were five other Imperial officers, and they couldn't have meant any good either. They were all looking down at him like he was nothing.

"Cut him loose," said the officer closest to him at last, "I'm not risking running behind schedule because I have to babysit Lord Vader's newest punching bag."

One of the soldiers cut through the rope holding Luke's bound wrists up. Luke slumped ungracefully to the ground, his stiff and strained muscles unable to support him – gods, his arms _hurt._ He never wanted to move them again as long as he lived, but he doubted that would happen.

Next, the bonds around his ankles were cut, and finally the gag in his mouth was removed; Luke swallowed thickly, relieved that at last that was out.

But hardly had he relaxed when the officers grabbed his arms, forcing him to his feet. Luke staggered, and heard laughter again.

"Don't try any tricks," said one of the officers. "There are hundreds of us here, and one of you. You won't get far."

But Luke doubted that he'd have gotten far at all, even if he'd been less exhausted. There was an officer on each side, holding his arms tightly enough to be painful; the other three hovered close, swords drawn.

Luke sighed. He wouldn't be able to make a run for it this morning.

They led him out of the tent and into the dim sunlight; Luke shivered. It was cold, and he didn't have a jacket. After crossing the camp a ways, he was thrown down on the ground; one of the men tossed him a piece of bread.

"Eat," said the officer who'd first woken him. "But don't make a run for it. You –"

"I won't get far," Luke said tiredly, sick of their demands. "I know."

He sat and absently started chewing on his bread, trying to ignore his guards as he looked around at the soldiers that finished breaking camp in the cold morning air. The wind woke him up a little, broke the lethargy still weighing on his limbs and eyelids. How much would he give for a cup of caf… hot caffeine would have made even his sore muscles better, he was sure.

His sluggish brain was shocked when, as soon as he'd put the last of his food in his mouth, he was yanked to his feet by the forearm. Luke stumbled a little as the officer came behind him.

Pain flashed through his arms as they were pulled in his back. Reflexively, Luke whimpered, jerked away from the soldier's grip. The man only held him tighter.

"Don't move!"

He tugged on Luke's arms again, more brusquely, bringing his wrists together in the small of his back. Luke let out a howl, feeling as if his arms were being ripped out of their sockets. Then the flash of agony passed, but his sore muscles were still protesting the new position, the strain so opposite to what they had borne the whole night, and he gritted his teeth as rope was passed around his wrists.

"Careful, Captain," a hated deep voice called out. Ready and mounted, back straight on his black warhorse, Vader was approaching them from across Luke. The young mage glared daggers at him. "I do not want my prisoner damaged."

"No, sir," the man replied. "I am securing him as per your orders."

Vader stopped and looked down at Luke, the mask focused on him with that uncomfortable intensity. Luke kept staring back, defiant, trying to convey all his hostility through that gaze.

"His hands bound in front of him, and not too tight," he commanded.

The officer obeyed, and Luke couldn't keep in the gasp of relief when he was released from the painful position. Docilely, as he knew he would achieve nothing by trying to run now, he watched his wrists as several rounds of rope were put around them, pointedly refusing to acknowledge the burning gaze he still felt Vader pierce him with.

The officer had finished binding his wrists. As other Imperials passed by, Luke noticed that Admiral Ozzel, the man who had been so pointlessly cruel to him the night before, was gaping at him.

"You," he stammered, "you're alive –"

Luke couldn't help himself. He smirked, glad that he could have a small kind of revenge, at least.

"Yeah," he said. "Surprised? Guess I'm worth more than you thought."

Ozzel shot him a murderous glare, but couldn't seem to find anything else to say. With a snarl, he turned and walked away.

For the first time since being captured, Luke felt good. He smiled.

"Skywalker."

Luke's smile vanished. He looked up at Vader, and as he stood face to face with the man, he realized just how tall the Dark Lord was.

"It is time," he said, seizing Luke's arm and pulling him toward his warhorse. "Come."

Suddenly it hit Luke that he had just wasted an opportunity for escape – but he was _tired._ Technically he'd slept, but he still felt so exhausted, he'd woken up frequently during the night, and his neck and back and arms and everything were _so sore._ He just wanted a good night of sleep, in a comfortable place; but he wasn't going to get it.

Vader stopped in front of his horse, and then he gestured meaningfully at Luke.

"Get up," he said.

Clearly Vader meant for him to mount the horse. And it wasn't as if Luke had never ridden a horse before; in fact, he considered himself a very excellent rider. But first there was the problem of this being a very large horse – and second of all, his hands were tied. They were in front of him, of course, which made it easier –

"Get _up,"_ Vader said ominously, and Luke decided to just do it.

Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore Vader – a difficult feat – he stepped forward, set his foot in the stirrup, and reached with his bound hands for the saddle horn. He missed; with a grunt, he tried again. This time, he seized it... and then he couldn't get a grip on it, and he slipped back down.

He could sense Vader staring at him.

"I can do it," he said, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Certainly," Vader said, and he sounded _amused._

Fuming, Luke turned around, put his foot in the stirrup again, jumped up, and gripped the saddle horn long enough to start hauling himself up. He got himself halfway up, managed to throw himself forward onto the saddle; but before he could bring either of his legs up, he completely lost his grip on the saddle horn, started to slip –

And then a strong grip seized around his waist – Vader – and settled him completely on the horse before getting on behind him.

Luke stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the man sitting right behind him, and trying not to feel completely humiliated that he'd had to be helped onto the horse. He was a _good_ rider, a great one even – it wasn't _his_ fault his hands were tied –

_I bet Vader did that on purpose, he wanted me to be humiliated._

"That is not why," Vader said suddenly. "I simply do not want you escaping."

Luke spun around. "Stop _reading my mind!"_

"Then start shielding your thoughts," Vader said smugly. "You are a powerful mage. You could do it."

Luke clenched his teeth. "I told you, I am _not –"_

But then the Grey Army was ready, and the rest of Luke's words were cut off.

"We will depart for the next site," Vader announced. He reached up and seized the reins, each of his arms brushing against Luke as he did so.

Luke shuddered, wishing there was any way to not be in such close proximity to the man who had killed his father, and inched forward. It worked marginally; there wasn't much room for movement.

Then Vader flicked the reins, and they were off.

* * *

It only took a few minutes for Vader to realize that Luke was extremely uncomfortable being that close to him. It was obvious, not just in what Vader could sense from his mind, but the way he was sitting ramrod straight, the way he stared either straight ahead or down at his lap, the way he trembled or shivered any time one of Vader's arms pressed closer to him.

It was an... unfortunate realisation, one that Vader tried not to think too much about. But he did think about it. Luke was his son, his only son, and he despised Vader, feared him. And Vader did not want his son to fear him.

But what other choice did he have? He _needed_ Luke to cooperate.

All the same... it was disappointing, to say the least. Because Vader certainly did not mind. He relished having Luke this close to him, sitting in front of him –it made him think of an alternate reality, one in which Luke had lived with him his whole life, in which they might have gone riding together like this, across the countryside, when Luke was younger.

But no. Instead, Obi-Wan, a man he thought had been his friend, had _stolen_ the child from him.

And now Luke did not know he was his father, and he hated and feared him.

But as the ride continued, across barren plains that all seemed the same, Vader got a sense of something else from Luke: he was exhausted. And that was a surprise, as well; as far as Vader had been aware, Luke had slept well during the night.

But then, that position could not have been comfortable.

Vader felt an ounce of regret; he did not want Luke to be deprived of sleep from being restrained in that position. But then... without it, he would surely escape.

 _Only a few days,_ he told himself. _It will only be a few days._

And then, what did it matter to him? Luke's magic was the important thing, and his loyalty. If he had to endure some discomfort in order for Vader to turn his loyalty toward him, then so be it.

As they rode, Luke continued to slip toward sleep; after a while he started to relax a little more, the tension in his shoulders disappearing. Once he even started to fall back toward Vader, though he quickly jerked himself back up into a sitting position, clearly mortified.

 _It is alright,_ Vader wanted to tell him. _You can sleep._

But he knew how Luke would react to that. No, Luke would not sleep – that was how deep his fear of Vader ran – and he would have a worse night as a result.

Vader should not have cared. But he felt disappointment all the same.

He must curb that. He must continue to be stubborn, cold, untouchable; he and Luke were engaged in a battle of wills, and he must win. He must not show that he cared –

The touch of... of something against him jerked him out of his thoughts; surprised, Vader looked down.

Luke had fallen back and was sleeping, his small, golden head tipped back against Vader's chest.

Luke did not trust him; Vader knew that. But he had been exhausted enough to sleep against him. When he woke he would, of course, be horrified – but for now, he was asleep, and he looked far more comfortable than he had the previous night.

And, as he was asleep, he was already starting to slide off the horse. It would be quite logical to hold him in place.

Vader looked down; Luke was still fast asleep. He would not wake. So, carefully, ever so carefully, Vader grasped both the reins in his left hand, and moved his right up and across Luke's chest, pulling him more firmly against him.

The sensation of his son resting there, peacefully enough, was more than he had hoped for. It was an accident; but for the time being, Vader tried to pretend that it was not, that Luke had voluntarily leaned back against him.

So the ride continued, Luke slept on, and his father held him the whole time.


End file.
